The Aftermath
by PortugesePumpkin
Summary: In the aftermath of the Second Great Wizarding War, the wizarding and muggle world alike are struggling to pick up the pieces. Harry and his friends are no different. Another year at Hogwarts, this time without imminent, looming danger, will result in something none of them could have ever expected.
1. The Malfoy's Day in Court

**Hello everyone! I'd like to thank you all for choosing to give my story a little read. This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction so I hope to receive some feedback on what you liked or what I could improve.**

**Again, thanks for reading!**

**PortugesePumpkin**

**Warnings: Language**

**Words: ~3,400**

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The Malfoys' Day in Court

Sunlight permeated through windows extended to the ceiling, a welcome contrast to the clouds that had inhibited its rays in the previous days. Wizards and witches flocked to and fro, the lively bustle and constant flow of conversation creating a satisfied, productive atmosphere. The courtroom was no different. In the place of normally somber faces and serious disposition were twinkly eyes and light chatter. Of the sixty two wizards of the Wizengamot, only four could be found without a smile on their faces, mouths set into clamped, rigid lines.

Harry Potter was not in a good mood, although most would call that an understatement of horrendous proportions. Assaulted by photographers and hopeful interviewers upon apparition, he had fended his assailants off without avail. Tempted to whip out his wand and hex more than a few people into everlasting, excruciatingly painful oblivion, he had been stopped only by Hermione, who insisted Harry not draw any more attention to himself than was necessary. Quite vexed, he agreed, rather bitterly, to Ron's comment that no matter what Harry did, he could do no wrong. If anything, he would have just been trying to save his dearest friends and innocent bystanders from the throes of money-driven vultures.

Arthur Weasley, the fourth addition to the troupe, rested his hand on Harry's left knee and shot him a twisted grimace, although Harry supposed it was meant to be a reassuring smile. Harry, about to reply, was silenced, along with everyone else in the room, by the knocking of a gavel, followed by a deep, booming authority.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, and Heather Bones, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, currently presiding over the trial of the Malfoy family, charged with counts of repeated torture, murder, use of the Unforgivables, and being of the Death Eaters, bring the Wizengamot to order. Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy may now be escorted inside for hearing."

"There's another Bones?" Ron whispered around Hermione to his friend, staring at the stern-looking, grey-haired witch seated to the right of Shacklebolt.

"I could care less, Ron," Harry hissed, eyes not leaving the door on the far end of the ovular courtroom where two dark, hooded figures stood. A plethora of officials had argued for the removal of the dementors from the Ministry, as their loyalty, or lack thereof, had been sufficiently proven. However, the fact remained that no guards could be better than ones the Minister himself feared, and therefore, the handful of dementors that had returned had been reinstated into their previous ranks.

The creak of the door opening caused Harry to tense in his seat. A high headed Narcissa Malfoy was led inside, carrying herself with the same upright posture and thrown back shoulders as always. Her robes were of fine dark olive, which she carefully rearranged in her lap upon reaching the chair in the center of the room. The chains quivered, and Narcissa's eyes flashed for a moment, then returned to their normal cool grey when the shackles appeared to be restrained by an invisible force and sunk back to their place. Harry felt a startling twinge of déjà vu at her momentary slip, although, as he reminded himself fervently, his position had been entirely different.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you are charged with one account of being a Death Eater, and thereby remaining an active supporter of He Who Must Not Be Named during the Second Wizarding War. Do you deny this allegation?"

"Yes." Her voice was steady. Immediately, heated mutterings arose from various places around the courtroom. Upon closer inspection, Harry could see through her raised chin and seemingly unyielding façade, to the sallowness of her cheekbones and the dull grey intermingling with her once lustrous, platinum hair.

"Silence," Kingsley commanded the courtroom. "Then, do you deny voluntary association with He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Yes."

"State your claims, please."

Beside him, Ron scoffed. Harry, however, noted Kingsley's superiority over Fudge.

"My son, Draco, and I, were brought into close association to the Dark Lord due to my sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Our home was seized as the Death Eater's headquarters against our will. We were forced to comply or face death. I was never admitted into his ranks as a Death Eater, and Draco was bound into coercion by no choice of his own." Her tone was matter of fact, and her words were crisp, as if they had been rehearsed.

"Then Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with all of this, I suppose?" An indignant voce piped up from behind Harry's seat. It belonged to a round, sneering man with greying temples and squinting eyes.

Narcissa's reply was scolding, as if reprimanding a child. "I believe this is my trial, not my husband's, Mr..?"

"That will be enough," Kingsley interrupted brusquely. "Mr. Higgins, if you have any objection to my line of questioning, please speak up. No? Very well then, Mrs. Malfoy, there are numerous claims by other Death Eaters that you were, in fact, not only present, but unresisting to He Who Must Not Be Named during his escapades. Do you deny this?"

"People like us do not actively resist the Dark Lord, Minister," she replied coolly. "Unless they have no concern for their own or their family's safety."

"While that may be, there has been no evidence to support your claims of you being anything other than a voluntary supporter."

"It may have looked that way, but I assure you, Minster, that it would have been incomparably foolhardy of me to appear otherwise."

"I need more than assurance, Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley replied calmly.

"Well, then, Minister, if we are quite finished with this line of questioning, I believe I have the option to call a witness to my defense?"

"A witness!" Another voice exclaimed. This time, it was a thin, mouse-faced woman with blond hair, seated directly above Hermione, to Harry's right. Furious whispers commenced once more.

"Mrs. Heelberry, the accused is perfectly at right to wall a witness. You may proceed, Mrs. Malfoy. How many witnesses would you like to call?"

"Just the one, Minister. I call Harry James Potter."

For once, the Wizengamot was eerily silent. After a moment, and a faint hand squeeze from Hermione, Harry rose from his seat and walked stiffly towards Narcissa, spine rigid. His footsteps were elephants in the quiet of the courtroom. A wooden chair was conjured as he reached her right hand side. He sat self-consciously and focused on a webby, translucent hand. Bright ruby nails served a sickening contrast to green-tinged skin.

"Harry James Potter, serving as witness for defense for Narcissa Malfoy," he stated, lifting his head to the dark eyes of the Minister. The faces of the Wizengamot were visible through his peripheral vision; some looked shocked, others outraged, and many looked simply dumbfounded. What else would he have come for, he thought bitterly. They had probably assumed that he came in order to watch justice being served, or some other codswallop that the reporters had accused him of. After all, it was no secret that he was a personal, vicious rival of the youngest known Death Eater in history, the supposed murderer of none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Kingsley stared hard into Harry's eyes. Of course, he had already known that Harry would be standing in as a witness.

"Mr. Potter, do you refute the charges of Mrs. Malfoy being a willing follower of He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Yes." Harry focused on keeping his voice even.

"On what grounds?"

"For starters, she doesn't have a Dark Mark."

"That does not disqualify her from being a supporter, Mr. Potter," Bones stated disapprovingly. Her violet spectacles drooped lower on her nose as she peered over the rims at him. Harry felt like a snake in a tank under her gaze.

"No, but it does prove she wasn't part of Voldemort's inner circle." His eye twitched involuntarily at the few scattered gasps. "She also deceived him to help me."

Bones glanced at Narcissa. "You did not mention this."

She did not reply.

"Please elaborate, Mr. Potter."

"After Voldemort cast the curse in the Forbidden Forest, on the night of the Battle at Hogwarts, I faked death. Voldemort commanded Mrs. Malfoy to check if I was still breathing. She knew I was, but she pretended she didn't. Mrs. Malfoy saved my life."

Bones spoke after a long moment, her voice breaking the hushed room. "And how did you know she was aware of her deceit? That she knew you were not dead?"

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly feeling slightly nauseous. "She asked me about her son. She asked me if he was still alive. I told her he was."

Another long pause ensued. "Alright then," Kingsley announced. "The Wizengamot shall move to decide the trial of Narcissa Malfoy, if there are no more statements to be made, Mr. Potter?"

"No, Minister." Harry was afraid to look at the woman beside him, instead focusing on the conflicted faces of the people around him. "Just that-that without what Mrs. Malfoy did-I would be dead. And probably, so would all of you. And Voldemort-he would most likely still be alive."

He didn't know what had made him say that, but apparently it had worked. Only a handful of arms were raised in favor of her guilt.

"And all in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

The majority of the Wizengamot raised their hands, several hesitantly rising moments after. Kingsley and Bones raised their arms as well.

"Cleared of all charges."

Even with the sudden buzz of conversation, Harry didn't miss the relieved sigh that escaped from Narcissa's lips. As she was escorted away, she made eye contact with Harry for the first time that day, expressing silent gratitude. He nodded back, eyes following her thin figure out the doors. He didn't bother getting up from his chair, knowing exactly whose trial followed.

No sooner had the doors thudded shut did they creak open again, and the room quieted down once more. Harry didn't bother turning around; he knew who it was. Footsteps thudded on the stone floor. A body settled in the seat to his right. The chains clinked again, and then lay still. Malfoy's sharp exhale made him feel sick. Turning his head a fraction to the right, Harry took notice of the likeness of his state to his mother's. Malfoy was staring resolutely ahead. For once, there was no "Hello, Potter", no mocking eyebrows, no challenging grey glare. Malfoy glanced at him, then, and Harry turned his gaze back to the Wizengamot.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are charged with the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the use of the Unforgivables, and being a Death Eater. Do you deny these allegations?"

"Yes, Minister." Malfoy's voice was quiet, no snark present.

"To which do you plead not guilty?"

"I didn't kill Dumbledore. And it was never wanted to be a Death Eater. I was forced, by him."

There were no outbursts, but the disbelief was palpable.

"I see you have a witness for your case, Mr. Malfoy. It would be appropriate now to call him as our evidence is nonexistent." Bones stated.

Malfoy took a deep breath. Harry could almost hear the uncertainty that would appear in his voice. "There's no one who can vouch for me-there was Snape, but he, well- and there's the Death Eaters, but they're dead and the ones who aren't, well, you can't really expect them to tell the truth. And I don't know why he's here-"Malfoy jerked his head to the left. "-or how he can help me, but-"

"Oh for fucks sake-just shut it Malfoy." Harry interjected. He couldn't believe this prick.

Malfoy swiveled his head and shot him a glare. "Oh, and just how are _you_ going to help me, Potter?"

In a way, Harry thought, this confrontation was comforting. It served as an anchor to this crazy situation. Who would have thought that he would be helping Malfoy, of all people?

"I was there, alright?"

Malfoy's brows furrowed in confusion, "What are you on about?"

"Well, when-"

Kingsley interrupted, "Address the court, please, Mr. Potter."

Harry spoke directly to Malfoy, watching his face carefully. "That night, last year, Professor Dumbledore asked me to go on a mission with him. When we came back, Death Eaters were all over the castle. He-he was already dying. He used the last of his energy to hide me. I saw the whole thing."

Malfoy's jaw went slack as a variety of emotions whipped across his face. Disbelief first, then anger, and then relief spread across his face, before he quickly settled back into his emotionless mask and turned his head away.

"And what was this mission, Mr. Potter?"

He turned to Bones with an incredulous expression. How was this important? "I can't tell you."

"Why is that?"

"It's a secret."

Her eyes narrowed. "Mr. Potter, need I remind you that this is a courtroom? There is no room for childish games of any sort."

"It's not a game," Harry glared. "And it isn't relative to this case."

"I think we should be the judge of that."

"It had to do with killing Voldemort. That's all I am going to say."

"I accept that, however-"

"That will be enough, Chief Bones," Kingsley commanded. She immediately ceased her questioning, but her stubborn gaze continued to rake over Harry's face as if she could find the answers there. "Let us please get back to the case at hand, shall we? Now, Mr. Potter, what do you recall seeing on the night that Albus Dumbledore died?"

Harry took a steadying breath. He didn't know why he felt so apprehensive. After all, he had already given this speech several times. "Well, after Professor Dumbledore concealed me, some Death Eaters came in, and Malfoy was with them. He had his wand out, like he was going to kill Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it. And the Death Eaters-they were egging him on, telling him to cast the Avada Kedavra and get it over with- but he couldn't, for some reason. Dumbledore was arguing with him, telling him that he wasn't a killer and I could tell that Malfoy was lowering his wand. He wasn't going to do it. And then Snape came in and cast the Avada Kedavra. Professor Dumbledore, he-," Harry cleared his throat. "He fell backwards, out of the window, and the Death Eaters left. I chased after them, but I couldn't-I couldn't do anything," he finished shakily. Harry couldn't help the feeling of guilt that always seemed to overwhelm him. Dumbledore's death had always seemed so preventable. If only he hadn't been imprisoned by Dumbledore's spell, if only he had done something, anything. He had been right there!

"Do you really expect us to believe this blarney?" Harry felt Malfoy tense beside him at the woman's shrill, accusing tone.

"Yes, I do." Harry retorted.

"I do as well," Kingsley said, raising his voice in order to be heard over the indignant court. "What many of you know here is that Severus Snape is indeed an innocent man, who had been working alongside Albus until his untimely death. However, what you all do not know is that I came across this knowledge by a memory, shown to me by Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. In this memory, we have viewed Dumbledore's plan to be killed at the hands of Severus Snape. We have also seen that he was knowledgeable of Mr. Malfoy's plan to murder him, under the order of He Who Must Not Be Named. Therefore, I take Mr. Potter at his word. You may all see fit to believe what you will. Now, Mr. Potter," he continued, no longer attempting to quiet the now tumultuous courtroom. "Are you aware of if Malfoy was forced into his position as a Death Eater?"

"No, sir, I don't know about that." In fact, Harry believed the opposite. Malfoy was definitely lying about being forced to become a Death Eater, if their incident on the train had indicated anything. However, Harry knew that his former rival definitely did not deserve the same fate as the other Death Eaters. He wasn't evil or cruel. He was just a coward, not immoral enough to become a ruthless killer, but not brave enough to switch sides. "But, I do know for certain that Malfoy didn't want to kill Dumbledore. I also know that he lied about knowing my identity to the Death Eaters.

"When Snatchers found Hermione, Ron, and me, they took us to the Malfoy Mansion. Hermione hexed me-a Stinging Hex-so I couldn't be recognized. Lucius Malfoy asked him if I was Harry Potter, and he said that he couldn't tell, but I knew he could tell it was me. That's the truth."

"Why, all these Death Eaters seem to be lying to protect you Potter. I wonder, how does that happen?" Bones commented dryly.

Harry knew it sounded ridiculous, but he had done his part. He had told the truth. All that awaited was the verdict. He glanced at Malfoy, who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time. The sallow-faced boy seemed to be riveted by his hands, which were twirling around each other in a nervous dance in his lap.

"That's the truth. I don't have anything else to say." He repeated.

Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke, "Very well, then, we shall now bring this case to a vote. All in favor of conviction?"

Hands shot up all around the room, some immediately, and some after a few seconds. Harry quickly counted them, his heart sinking as a good half raised their hands, maybe more. Malfoy's eyes darted around the Wizengamot, fear tangible in his countenance.

"All in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

For a terrifying moment, no hands went up. Then first went Kingsley's, and after a few moments, so did Bones'. A smattering of hands rose in the right corner of the room, then the middle, and last the left. It was difficult to decipher what this meant. Was it split down the middle? Which side had more? Harry was afraid to count.

Kingsley looked pensive for a long time, even after everyone had lowered their hands, their opinion clearly stated. No one dared to speak, all awaiting his verdict. He sighed and finally said, "Normally, Mr. Malfoy here would be convicted, as ordained by popular vote. However, I cannot ignore the unusually tiny margin by which this vote was declared majority, and also my own opinion. Therefore, I shall propose something different, but not unheard of.

"I am placing Mr. Malfoy on a strict, supervised probation for the next five years. All magic done by Mr. Malfoy will be documented. Any suspicious or even slightly violent behavior will force Mr. Malfoy to revoke possession of his wand, and arrive for another trial, in which his case will be dealt with in the conventional manner. Mr. Malfoy, your probation is effective as of now. You will be contacted next Monday by a Ministry official so that your wand, now in the possession of the Ministry, will be given to you so that you may use it in your upcoming year at Hogwarts, if you choose to attend. You are now free to leave. This trial has been served."

Harry was, to say the very least, dumbfounded. The possibility of something like this happening had not occurred to him. He had simply thought that either Malfoy would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, or that he would, not that this had seemed like a real possibility, get off scot-free. The rest of the wizards in the room felt the same way, if the chaos in the courtroom was anything to go by.

Faintly, Harry realized that he should leave now, so as to go unnoticed by the bickering Wizengamot. He definitely was not staying for the next trial. Hurrying up from his seat, he quickly approached his friends. Hermione seemed to be calming a frazzled Ron, and Arthur looked simply confused, giving Harry a bemused grin and raising an eyebrow as if to say, "Who would've thought?". Harry gave him a hesitant smile, and dragged a squawking Ron with him out of the courtroom. Before Harry stepped out, however, he turned just in time to see Malfoy brush past his father, who was being led in, shackled and flanked by dementors on either side.

Harry clenched his jaw and left the room. There was one Malfoy he would never defend.


	2. Arriving Home

**Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! **

**Hope you like it. **

**PortugesePumpkin**

**Warnings: Mild Language**

**Words: ~ 5,400**

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Arriving Home

The lively bustle of the young wizards and witches around him was comfortingly familiar as Harry pushed his trolley down the cobblestones, his brown barn owl hooting indignantly at every jarring jostle. After Hedwig, Harry wasn't exactly eager to get another owl, but Molly had insisted. And as Harry had come to learn after years with the Weasleys, Molly Weasley did not insist-she commanded.

Loud bickering drew his attention forward, where Ron and Hermione walked briskly side by side, arguing about something or the other. Harry couldn't deny that he felt somewhat like a third wheel around those two nowadays; even with their incessant squabbling, they still managed to have that special air about them. Everyone could see that they were meant for each other.

"Harry, you dropped this," Ginny gently touched Harry's arm. She dropped a thick, orange book inside of his trolley. N.E.W.T. level Potions. Harry grimaced inwardly. He didn't know how he was going to survive this year without the Half-Blood Prince's help.

"Thanks, Gin," he gave her a small smile, which she returned. Being with Ginny was comfortable, to say the least. A few unexpected snogging sessions had occurred here and there, but she had not asked about their relationship yet. He didn't even know if they were together or not, and if Harry was being completely honest with himself, he didn't know if he wanted them to be. Ginny was awesome, but often distant. Everything that had happened had taken its toll on her, and though she usually seemed like her normal self, Harry often caught her staring into nothing, with a dark, brooding expression.

That wasn't to say his other friends weren't affected, but if the constantly shut door to his friend's room was anything to go by, Ron had Hermione, and she had him. Most nights, Harry shared with George. Not that he minded. Surprisingly, George was the easiest person to be around these days. He didn't fake emotion. He smiled when he was happy, he laughed when he found something funny, and he was quiet when he became recollective. This meant, of course, that most of their time was spent in silence, something that suited Harry fine. As for Ginny, Harry didn't know what he had expected. That Ginny would lean on him, the way that Ron and Hermione did to each other, he supposed. It had been a foolish thought. There was a reason that he liked Ginny so much. She was just like him.

"Oi, Harry!" Harry heard a familiar voice shout. He sharply turned his head to find a taller, leaner Neville waving at him above the throngs of people. He grinned widely and raised a hand back at him.

"Hey, Neville!" He called back loudly, regretting his action a second later as heads whipped around to him from several feet away.

"Harry Potter-its Harry Potter-"

"Blimey, it's really him-"

"I knew he was coming back but still-"

Harry sighed and shot Neville a sheepish grin before quickening his pace. Hermione turned and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Um, hi, you're Ronald, right? Ronald Weasley?" Harry suddenly saw Ron looking down at a small girl with long, brown hair. She was quite pretty.

"Uh, yeah," Ron said awkwardly, scratching behind his ear. "Well, Ron, actually."

"Well, um, Ron, I know this may be weird, but couldImaybehaveanautograph?"

"Ah, sorry?"

She seemed to be steeling herself. "I mean, could I have an autograph?" She held out a torn off piece of parchment with both hands, nervously peering up at him through her bangs.

Ron flushed and laughed awkwardly. "Oh-yeah, sure, wait, I don't have a-" he frantically searched the numerous pockets on his worn brown jacket before being handed a quill by a tight-lipped Hermione. He signed the parchment with a flourish and grinned at the girl. She flushed, squeaked a quiet "Thank you!" before scurrying off to a gaggle of giggling girls a few feet away. They all looked to be in their fourth or fifth year.

"Blimey, Harry can you believe that?" Ron asked him wonderingly.

Hermione grabbed the quill and stuffed it into her bag with a disgruntled expression.

"I mean, I knew you'd be popular and all now, with being the Savior and all, but _me_? Wow." He grinned conspiratorially at Harry. "She was pretty fit, wasn't-ouch, Hermione, what-"

"Um, Harry?"

Harry was suddenly aware of the large group of girls surrounding him and Ginny. His eyes widened in panic. When had that happened? There couldn't be less than twenty, thirty of them, staring adoringly up, and in some frightening cases, down at him.

He should have known that it had been too much to ask for one last quiet, uneventful year.

"Can you believe those girls?" Ginny groused, tugging her luggage into the compartment after a dazed looking Ron almost twenty minutes later. "I don't know how you do it Harry, honestly." She shot a disgusted look at her brother.

Harry shrugged. "Used to it, I guess."

"Harry, come on, we need to get to the prefects cabin, we're already late, thanks to that," Hermione stated, still appearing annoyed. Her tawny locks were even more frazzled than usual as she flounced out of the cabin. Harry noted that she hadn't looked at Ron once since the hordes of fans had bombarded the four of them. Harry sighed and followed her, Ron at his heels, attempting to ignore the way that the teenagers' faces pressed up against the glass of their compartment doors as he walked by. Hermione seemed to take no notice of this, muttering nonsensically the whole way down as Ron, who had finally come out of his post-amazement haze, shot curious glances between the two. Harry shook his head in a combination of amusement and exasperation. He loved Ron, and he wasn't going to get in between his friends, because he knew how that always turned out, but Ron was a complete idiot.

Harry quickened his pace to catch up with Hermione, who suddenly stopped in front of a compartment. She took a deep breath and attempted, rather futilely, to push her hair back into its elastic restraints, and straightened the shiny badge resting on her lapel. Only then did she seem to notice Harry. Her face softened.

"Honestly, Harry, your badge is loose. We need to be setting an example. McGonagall chose us as Head Boy and Head Girl for a reason."

They had received their letters with their invitation to return to Hogwarts for their seventh year. Hermione, ecstatic, had immediately sent a letter to Harry at the Burrow from her summer in Australia with her parents, whom the Ministry had helped locate. Harry had been happy for her, and had attempted to sound pleased for himself, but Hermione was too shrewd for her own good sometimes. He honestly could not understand his jealousy just a few years ago when Hermione and Ron had become prefects and he did not. It just seemed so small, so irrelevant now. All he had wanted was a normal year, but as Hermione had tried to convince him, being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain was normal. And if this was the biggest excitement for Harry this year, he would take it gladly.

Harry straightened his badge. "Thanks, 'Mione."

She gave him a soft smile, still ignoring Ron, and slid open the compartment door. Harry and Ron followed her inside. Harry felt his cheeks redden at the awestruck stares from the occupants of the compartment. Ron sat down next to Hannah Abbott, but as Harry moved to join him, Hermione quickly yanked on his sleeve and confused, he remained standing up. Quickly surveying the compartment, he froze as he locked eyes with Malfoy, who seemed to have been sulking against one Pansy Parkinson. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't had his prefect status revoked. If being an ally of Voldemort didn't suffice as revoking material what did? Malfoy didn't look surprised to see him. The boy looked as if he was going to make a snarky comment, eyebrow raised in a familiar mocking gesture, but he suddenly closed him mouth and looked away. Harry followed his example after a few moments, turning away from his glaring girlfriend.

He didn't even notice that Hermione had been making some sort of speech, and was startled as he noticed everyone looking at him expectantly. He glanced at Hermione, who was beaming proudly. He honestly could not recall a word of what she had been saying.

"Um, what Hermione said. This is all of our last year at Hogwarts and we should make the most of it." He declared stiffly, before taking a seat next to Ron. Apparently, it had been enough, if the smattering of applause and grins around the room were anything to go by, albeit from the Slytherins in the corner of the compartment.

He felt Hermione settle next to him. "You were supposed to follow up on my statement about 'inter-house unity'," she whispered in his ear.

"Sorry," he replied.

She sighed, "Harry, were you even listening to anything I said?"

"Harry, what are _they_ doing here?" Ron whispered angrily. It seemed he had only then noticed the Slytherin prefects presence.

"Honestly Ronald, do you _ever_ listen to anything I say?" Hermione hissed at him, apparently breaking her vow of silence that Ron had been conveniently ignorant of.

Harry groaned inwardly. Everyone in the compartment had been paying avid attention to the three. He couldn't wait to get back to the privacy of his own compartment. After a few awkward minutes, people began chattering about their summers, or gossiping about who was getting with who, and he relaxed. Harry had no doubt that some their conversations had centered around him; Padma Patil was hardly trying to keep it a secret, shooting occasional glances at him.

"Hey Harry," Anthony Goldstein piped up across him after a while. The room was currently filled with only a few prefects, the rest "patrolling" the train, which actually just meant congregating in groups talking.

"Yeah?" Harry replied, his automatic reply already on his lips. Everyone always seemed to wonder about his summers, and he felt like he was letting people down when they found out what he actually did every year.

"What do you reckon you're going to do, you know, after Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged. "An Auror, most likely. I've got all the O.W.L.S. for it, and Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of the only things I'm not rubbish at. You?"

The Ravenclaw prefect smirked. "Gringotts. I've already got my foot in the door, with my father working there and all. You know how that is, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, you're bloody Harry Potter. If you want to become an Auror you already are one. Coming to school's pretty damn useless in your case if you ask me."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I've still got my N.E.W.T.S., as does everyone else."

Goldstein scoffed. "Right. But _you_ don't have to take them. We do. We can't all be Golden Boys, you know."

Harry bristled, feeling the stares of his friends and the Hufflepuffs in the corner. He shook off Hermione's sudden, cautionary touch on his arm.

"I'm just like everyone else here."

Goldstein laughed. He goddamned _laughed_. Harry's blood boiled. "Alright, you can keep telling yourself that."

"Shut it, Goldstein," Ron interjected angrily.

"Whatever," the boy leaned away.

Seething, Harry swiftly left the compartment. The door slid back with a loud banging noise, making people nearby start in surprise. Prefects stared at him inquisitively, as did students glancing up from their conversations behind glass doors. He couldn't believe that he was almost missing the days when people thought he was crazy. At least then they pretended they weren't staring.

"Harry, where are you going? We still have an hour before we go to our compartments." a prefect he didn't recognize called out. Harry forced a grin onto his face, willing himself to calm down.

"Oh, nowhere, I was just going to get something off the food trolley."

"The trolley doesn't arrive for another thirty minutes," The boy said, looking at him curiously.

The compartment door opened, and Hermione stepped out, hesitantly meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry exhaled as the two stepped out. He traipsed down the aisle, conscious of Ron's and Hermione's concerned whispers some feet behind him. Apparently they were talking again.

He found their compartment, occupied already by three people. Ginny looked up curiously as they entered. "You're here early."

"Yeah, Harry lost his temper again," Hermione informed her, sitting down.

Harry groaned and sat heavily, anger abating, nodding to Neville and Luna in greeting. "I didn't mean to. But come on, you can't really blame me."

"Well, yeah," Ron chorused. "He was being a dick, but you didn't have to walk out, mate. It's nothing compared to what you're in for when we get to Hogwarts."

"Harry, most of the school thinks this way," Hermione sighed. "You just have to ignore it. It's not really a big deal."

"Hermione, you just don't get it."

"Then help me to. You can't get angry and walk out of every conversation you're not comfortable with!"

Ginny, who had been glancing at the three questioningly, spoke up. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Goldstein was being a prick and told Harry that he's got the Ministry so far up their arse he doesn't even have to go to school to get an Auror job."

Hermione groaned in exasperation. "That is _not _what he said, Ronald. Anyway, it was just a stupid comment. He didn't mean anything by it."

"Well, it was true."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Remember after the trial, when Kingsley wanted to talk to me in his office for a minute?"

Ron and Hermione nodded.

"Well, he offered me a job. As an Auror."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Without any N.E.W.T.S.? That's ridiculous! An Auror is one of the topmost jobs in the Wizarding World. You can't just give it to an eighteen year old that hasn't even finished school!"

"Well, he did, apparently."

"Why didn't you take it then?"

"Don't be silly Ron, Harry needs to finish school and take his N.E.W.T.S. ," Hermione scolded him.

"Yeah, but if he can become an Auror without even bothering about books and rubbish, then why not?"

"Seventh Year is not about 'books and rubbish', it's about preparing a young witch or wizard for the real world! And what if he decides to change jobs? What then?"

Ginny rolled her eyes in amusement at the two. Harry gave her a what-to-do grin and shrugged helplessly. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Hey Luna, hey Neville," He turned, greeting them.

"Hi Harry," Neville replied. "Your summer was alright?"

"Yeah, pretty normal. You?"

"It was amazing!" Nevile gushed enthusiastically. "Gran and I went to the Maldives, there's all these amazing magical plants there. You can't find those things anywhere else! Except maybe Malaysia, and some places in South America! I made a little scrapbook thing, I'll show it to you when we get to the dorms, if you want. It's like she's finally accepting what I want to do."

Harry's heart warmed at Neville's obvious excitement. Neville seemed so different nowadays. He had stayed at the Burrow briefly over the summer and the change in him was almost tangible. Gone was the awkward, portly boy who couldn't cast a straight spell. In its place was a man who exuded confidence.

"You're really sticking with that Herbology stuff, aren't you? Please tell me you're definitely doing that after school."

Neville blushed slightly. "Well, actually, I really want to work for Hogwarts. As a Herbology professor, you know? I think that would be amazing. But I need a bit more training, so I can't teach right away."

Harry hadn't even considered teaching at Hogwarts. Thinking about it, the idea seemed appealing. But it wasn't the same as being an Auror. "That sounds great, Neville. What about you Luna?"

Luna stared out of the window dazedly. Harry glanced at Neville, who shrugged.

"I don't know what happened. She just put those black strings in her ears twenty minutes ago and hasn't said a word since."

Only then did Harry notice the black earphones Luna was wearing, which connected to an iPod in her lap. He laughed. "They're called earphones. And that's an iPod."

The wizards in the compartment stared wonderingly at the device.

"What does it do?" Ginny asked.

"It plays music," Hermione informed her. She leaned across Ron and tapped Luna on the shoulder, who had closed her eyes and was swaying slowly. She woke from her daze and smiled beatifically at them, pulling the earphones from her ears.

"Oh, hello Harry," Luna smiled at him. "And Hermione and Ron. I didn't notice you for some reason. It must have been the nickajabbers."

"The nickajabbers?"

"Yes. They live in this box. They play lovely music when they feel energetic. You can even change what they sing by stroking them, look." She demonstrated for them by scrolling down and selecting a song.

"That's a muggle device, Luna. Wherever did you get it?" Hermione questioned, reaching for the item.

Luna replied dreamily, "Dean gave it to me. It was my birthday last month. We had a wonderful party."

Harry watched as his friends took turns with the muggle object, Ron repeatedly poking the screen until Hermione showed him how to change the song. On one incident, the screen locked and turned dark, which prompted Ron to begin to shake it with increasing violence in an effort to wake the creatures inside up.

This is what he had returned to Hogwarts for, Harry thought contentedly.

The train finally stopped, and the six students began unloading their luggage. Harry pushed his way out of the train. The grounds were visible through the train windows, and Harry felt a sense of belonging settle over him. He couldn't place the emotion he felt. It wasn't exactly happiness-no that definitely wasn't it. Sorrow, which had been numbed during the summer, settled again on his shoulders as the castle, looming above, brought back memories of those lost. There were much too many. By the faces around him, he could tell the older students felt the same way. The younger wizards were craning their heads around, trying to catch a glimpse of him, not even attempting to hide their whispers, but Harry barely noticed. No, he definitely didn't feel happiness. It was familiarity, he decided. A sense of belonging. A tremendous amount of misery occurred on these grounds, but so had his most delightful, pleasurable moments. Hogwarts was the only place that reflected who he, Harry Potter, was. It was the only place where he felt truly at home.

He noticed Ron and Hermione boarding the nearest carriage and hurried after them, breaking his reverie. Luna was nowhere to be found. He asked Hermione if she had seen her.

Hermione shot Ginny a knowing smile. "She's riding with Dean and Seamus."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh. Are they together then, Luna and Dean?"

Ginny giggled, "Obviously. How could you not know that until now?"

"I didn't! Who could see that coming? Blimey, I always thought she would end up with Neville or something. No offense, mate. " Ron exclaimed in wonder.

"None taken," Neville said, turning red for the second time that day. Some things would never change.

"Honestly Ron," Hermione said. "Everyone saw that a mile away. They were locked in a dungeon for weeks with no one but Ollivander. And they were always near each other in Bill and Fleur's cottage, remember?"

"They even went to Scotland with Luna's father," Neville added helpfully.

"Boys." Hermione and Ginny shook their heads.

The carriage finally arrived at the castle's front doors. A rotund man in plum robes waddled ahead, leading the sea of black into the school. Harry smiled to himself, a little ruefully, as he imagined Hagrid leading the first-years across the lake. He could remember his first year quite clearly. His disbelief when he first found out he was a wizard, and the first, hesitant stirrings of joy that he had experienced in the first few weeks. He had been so blissfully ignorant then, and Harry almost wished he could go back. Then he glanced at Hermione and Ron, who had linked hands thinking they were being discreet, but the look on their faces gave them away. He looked at Neville, who loomed above him now, and was talking with Dean and Seamus, a giant grin on his face, and Harry changed his mind.

Although that didn't change his opinion about the stares. Harry had tried to stay near the back of the group upon entering the school in an effort to avoid attention, but he hadn't exactly thought out the plan well, he realized. The tables were nearly full, and every eye was set on him. Brilliant. Head down, he shuffled behind his friends to the corner of the Gryffindor table closest to the door. As soon as he sat down, the first years entered. They were a long line of miniscule boys and girls with identical apprehensive expressions. Harry couldn't recall ever being that tiny. Since his first year, he had fantasized about being seventeen, and wondered how it felt to look down on everyone else instead of the other way around. His seventh year definitely was not even close to what eleven year old Harry had in mind, and even now, at eighteen, the experience felt even stranger than he had imagined. He turned his gaze downwards as he noticed many of the first years elbowing each other and craning their necks in order to ogle him unabashedly.

He generally kept his head down during the annual song and sorting, occasionally glancing up and applauding as a new Gryffindor joined their table, red-cheeked and with a relieved grin on his or face. The sorting finally finished, and mountains of delicious, steaming food appeared on the table. Harry helped himself to some steak and potatoes.

"Hermione," he said thoughtfully. She turned to him. "Did you notice something? There are usually less Slytherins than Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, but there were hardly any this year."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, now that you mention it. But it isn't very surprising, is it? I mean, Slytherin has a horrible reputation now, even worse than before." She gestured towards the table, which, now that Harry noticed, seemed almost comprised entirely of older classmen.

"Yeah, I heard lots of parents didn't want their kids in Slytherin," Seamus said from across the table. "You know, with everything that happened last year. And a lot of the older kids transferred to Durmstrang. Parents were scared, I guess."

"Why?" Harry asked incredulously. "What's there to be scared of?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged. "I mean, the only thing out there is a few Death Eaters hiding from Azkaban. Nothing the Ministry can't handle. They'll all be locked up before the year is over, I bet."

Ron, who, until presently, had been engrossed in his cottage pie, perked up at the possibility of a bet. He had been fantasizing about spending the coming summer abroad with Hermione, and had started planning early. To his girlfriend's dismay, this mostly entailed doing odd jobs for a few sickles, and placing as many bets as possible. Currently, he owed George one Galleon and Baggerty, Mr. Weasley's coworker from the Ministry, two.

Ron and Seamus began haggling. They bent their heads to avoid unwanted attention from teachers.

Seamus grinned. "I bet five galleons that every single one of those scum will be locked up by May."

Ron scoffed. "As if. Those ponces will be in Azkaban by Christmas. They've got no one to follow, and Kingsley's not an idiot like Fudge or the wimp Scrimgeour was. He was in the order. That man knows what he's doing. You're on."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed helplessly as the two shook hands.

Harry felt suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around, expecting to see a skittish little first year, but was instead confronted with McGonagall.

"Oh, hello Professor," He said, surprised

"Hello Potter." She looked at him seriously. "Would you please come with me? I need to have a word."

Harry was taken aback. What did she want that couldn't wait? Did he do something wrong? "Now?"

"Yes Potter, now," she replied.

He glanced back longingly at the plethora of desserts that had just appeared on the table and got up. He followed McGonagall out of the Great Hall. Thankfully, he went unnoticed for once due to the general clamor of the feast. McGonagall walked quickly ahead of him and pushed open the door to the nearest classroom. Harry's mind raced, trying to figure out what he could have possibly done wrong. He could not recall a thing.

McGonagall was standing behind the desk when Harry entered cautiously a few seconds later, closing the door behind him. She conjured a wooden chair.

"Sit please."

Harry sat. He didn't know what about this woman had always made him feel like a disobedient first-year under her gaze.

McGonagall sighed and took a seat as well. "There is something we need to discuss. It concerns Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy? What did he have to do with this? Harry's palms began to sweat. "Whatever he said I did, I didn't do, Professor. I swear. I haven't talked to him today-or even since the trial. And even then I barely said a word."

McGonagall gave him a small, reassuring smile."No, Potter, no need to worry. You aren't in any trouble."

Harry was lost. "What is it then?"

McGonagall sighed. She looked down at her hands, which were veiny and knotted, with smatterings of dark spots. In that moment, the woman was not as imposing. She was simply someone who had been through too much, just like everyone else had. She was no stranger to war, and had survived immense struggles. Harry knew, in the back of his head somewhere, that before him sat a formidable witch with almost unmatchable skill, but all he felt when he looked at her now was a faint kinship.

"Professor?"

McGonagall sighed again. "Harry,"-Harry took notice of the way she used his first name-"I understand that you supported the Malfoys during their hearing."

Harry shook his head. "Not Lucius Malfoy. I would never. And all I did was say the truth."

"And that in itself is commendable. Not many would voluntarily stand up for a Death Eater, even through extenuating circumstances." Her dark eyes pierced his.

She reminded him of Dumbledore for a reason he couldn't explain. They were both so different, yet something in her gaze, in her words-the thought of Dumbledore sent a pang through him and he suddenly felt for Malfoy- he was an arse, and yes, his mother was a judgmental bitch, but they weren't evil. Not like the others.

McGonagall continued,"Now, I know you and Malfoy have never been on the best of terms-" she smiled slightly at Harry's involuntary snort-"and I don't expect you to be. But I will not tolerate any violent or provocative behavior towards Malfoy this year, from you or anyone. This includes baiting him. I know how you two are."

Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "What? I would never- he was the one who always started it! I'm completely happy with leaving Malfoy alone for the rest of the year! And if he attacks me, you can bet I'll fight back."

"Malfoy won't be attacking you at all, Potter. In fact, I think he'll be doing his best to avoid you entirely to keep out of trouble. All I ask that you don't provoke him for any reason."

Harry felt like hexing himself for his own stupidity. How could he forget about the probation? Ron had spent days complaining about it being too light of a punishment.

"Potter, I am just asking for you to reciprocate. And maybe apply some of that House Unity that I'm sure you and Granger had a long, serious talk about." She gave him a stern look.

Harry stared, incredulous. McGonagall could not be serious. Ignoring Malfoy was one thing, being his mate was another entirely. "I'm not going to be his friend, Professor. I doubt Malfoy even wants me to talk to him."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Tell me boy, have you noticed something? The other houses despise the Slytherins even more now, and Malfoy in particular as you can imagine. In addition to that, many of the Slytherin students have parents who are Death Eaters, Potter. Death Eaters who are either dead or in Azkaban. I'm sure you can see what I am implying."

"I don't really see how this is my problem Professor. I'm not going to bother Malfoy, I promise you that, but I don't know what else to tell you."

McGonagall was silent for a long time. Harry shifted under her dark gaze uncomfortably. He hadn't been wrong. He had been perfectly reasonable, in fact.

She sighed again quietly. "All right, then Potter, I will see you tomorrow." She glanced up at the clock to her right, a weary expression on her face. "I expect the feast should be over now. You should be getting to your dorm."

"Oh-alright then," Harry said unsurely. He rose from his chair and headed towards the door, pausing before he left. "Um sorry, Professor, but what was the password? I didn't get it."

McGonagall considered him for a minute, an unreadable expression on her face. "Kerfuffle, I believe."

"Thank you. Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight, Potter."

Harry left the room quickly and hurried towards the Gryffindor tower. What had that been all about? As if he would _ever_ be mates with Malfoy. He nearly laughed at the suggestion. Jogging quickly up the staircase, he deftly avoided the one with the loose floorboard. Harry planned to keep this year as utterly Malfoy-free as possible. He was looking forward to Quidditch and being able to focus on nothing else except N.E.W.T.S. and friends and maybe who was going out with who. He arrived at the portrait, panting slightly from the exertion.

"Kerfuffle," he stated loudly. The Fat Lady, who had been dozing, started awake.

She frowned at him. "What do you think you're doing, out and about this late? Wandering about the corridors isn't exactly a top notch way to start off the term, you know. Even if you are Harry Potter."

Harry gave her a lopsided grin, cheeks flushed, still breathing hard. "Yeah, sorry about that. Can I get in?"

"Of course dear." She swung open. Harry climbed up to his dormitory with leaden legs. This was one of the times he wished the Gryffindors didn't room in a bloody tower.

The lights were still on in the dormitory. Neville, Dean, and Seamus sat together talking on Neville's bed. They glanced up as he entered.

"Hey, where were you? You disappeared in the middle of the feast," Dean questioned.

"Oh, McGonagall wanted a word. Something about getting along with Slytherin and setting an example," he lied easily."I dunno why she didn't want to speak with Hermione as well."

Seamus snorted. "Like that's going to happen."

Dean agreed. Harry noticed Neville remained silent. He flopped down on his bed, reveling in the comfort of its excessive downy and silken bedding. Suddenly he noticed that Ron's hangings were open, and that his friend was nowhere to be found.

"Neville," he asked. "Do you know where Ron went?"

The three boys sniggered. Harry groaned. Of course. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"I wonder how he got in," Seamus said smirking. "I need to get him to teach me some of that."

"They're probably not even in the tower," Dean replied mischievously, wagging his eyebrows.

Harry groaned again. "Come on guys, trying to get some sleep here?" He pulled the hangings shut and snuggled deeper inside the blankets.

"What Harry, you're not going to visit Ginny? Come one, you've got to want a piece of that."

Harry rolled his eyes at the Irish boy. "'Night, Seamus."

"Goodnight, Harry."

"You too, Neville."

Harry settled in. A few minutes later, sleep overtook him and he drifted into a dreamless slumber.


End file.
